Limits
by CriminalMind
Summary: There are limits to what a man can do when he's only got four senses. Nathan's thoughts on his Trouble, and on Audrey. Set after "Ain't No Sunshine."


A/N: My first fic ever(!) that I've been happy enough with to actually publish. Please R&R. I hope you like it!

Limits

When you've only got four senses, you make the most of them. Nathan Wuornos knew this better than any other resident in Haven, because it was how he had to live his life.

Without the ability to feel, Nathan's other senses overcompensated, and so he could use them in many ways to do more things than any others. He could differentiate the heavy, lumbering footsteps of the Chief from the quick, tapping strides coming from a certain partner of his as she rushed around the station. He could taste the layers of flavour from all the ingredients that went into making a single pancake. He had memorized hundreds of different scents and saw the unique beauty of every colour, no matter how subtle the difference between them.

With these skills, Nathan could be almost anything he wanted. A world- renowned chef, a highly sought after interior decorator, hell, he could even be a tracking dog if the need arose. But there was one thing he couldn't be, and it was the only thing he really did want to be. Whole. Jess had tried to tell him otherwise, and he had almost believed her, but now she was gone and the idea of being somehow _less_ had returned.

He couldn't feel. When he went to bed at night, he couldn't feel the reassuring push of the mattress beneath his body, nor could he feel the pressure when his foot stopped as it met the floor. Nathan remembered what it had been like when he had been able to feel, when the Troubles had gone. It had seemed as if he had finally entered the world and become part of it. Now that the Troubles had returned, he was pushed back to the edge, unable to quite make contact with the world in which he was living. It was a terrible feeling, knowing what he had lost when the Troubles had come back.

It wasn't all bad, of course. The separation from feeling was well suited to Nathan's field of work. As a cop, it seemed like the perfect ability. He could be the hero, running into a burning building, facing dangerous obstacles without the worry of injuries impeding him. He could be the man to save a life that would otherwise have been lost.

Even though he could do all of these extra things, he still had limits to what he could do without that fifth sense. He was able to run through a burning building; so, sure, he would, and that made him a danger to himself. The inability to feel –pain, cold, warmth—made him reckless, with no care for his own safety, with no consideration of the consequences if he got hurt. He had no idea what was too dangerous; even if he got hurt he would be oblivious to the extent of his injuries, constantly claiming he was fine and ignoring doctor's order's to be checked out.

Being compassionate to those who were in pain was difficult to, since he was unable to put himself in their shoes. He could relate well mentally, but physically, it was a whole different story.

Not that people related well to _him_ mentally. They didn't understand his situation, so it was very difficult for them to be close to him, or him close to them. Relationships were a hard thing, especially after years of being taunted and experimented on by classmates who thought it was okay because he couldn't feel it. The strange looks and the whispers of the townsfolk played havoc with his already unstable emotions, emotions that were heightened by his lack of outside sensations. Either that or they were strangely dulled, locked away where no one could reach them, not even if they put a thousand tacks in his back.

Those were the most thought about limits, the ones that showed in his life everyday. But there was another limit, perhaps the most obvious, though the least dwelt on, by the town at least. It wasn't something Nathan brought up regularly, but recent events had made this limit more prominent to him. Physical relationships. Sex. He could like someone, love them even, but he couldn't muster up enough feeling for _that_. He knew relationships weren't only about the physical, but it was nearly impossible to be _with_ someone intimately without being able to even feel the hand he held, the lips he kissed, the comforting presence of someone standing right next to him.

There was only one person he could feel all of that with. Audrey. She had kissed him on the cheek that day, and suddenly the world had become tangible again, if just for that moment. It was everything Nathan had been missing, the things he remembered being able to feel, the things he had been dangerously close to forgetting. That one touch had been a rush, something he wanted so badly to have again. The physical relationship he had been missing. If she would kiss him again, if she would…

But he couldn't think of her that way. He would never use Audrey for sex. Because she was much more than just someone he could feel. She was the answer to nearly everything that his affliction had cost him. She was his friend, his partner. Someone to calm the emotions raging through his mind. She was the only person who could even _begin_ to understand him, to see him as more than the man who couldn't feel. He wouldn't cross that line. She was too important to him.

So he would remain with that one physical barrier, and be content with the little things he could get safely. Anything she offered him. A high five. A hand over his. Maybe a punch to his shoulder when he annoyed her a little too much. Nothing too intimate, and nothing too dangerous. Nothing that would damage the precarious whatever-it-was that they had between them. He would keep to the small things, and that would have to be enough.


End file.
